Page 100 of Irish Vice
Braiden would say that, and Madden too. I shouldn’t let the memory of Madden’s dying taunt into this room: He needed his cock to fuck my arse.
I’ve never done anal before. I’ve never given any man the option.
But lying here, marked and bruised and already eager again, I know what I want. What I need.
“Fuck me,” I say to Braiden. “Take my ass.”
He runs his hand over the welts from the cane. He sounds amused when he says, “Already back to topping from below,piscín?”
I’m not topping. I’m not playing games. I need to know this is something no one can ever steal from me, a threat no man can make again. I have to be certain the first man there is the one I choose, the man I’ve given myself to, heart and body and soul.
I push back from the mattress, just enough to drop to my knees beside the bed. At this level, I can see the bulge in Braiden’s pants, measure how much my orgasm turned him on.
But I don’t reach for his buckle.
He’s my Dom and I’m his sub, no matter how much he lets me break the rules. He taught me a lesson my second day in this house: How to beg.
“Please,” I say. “I’ll never ask for anything again.”
A smile breaks his stern lips. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”
But he gave me my response that first day in the safe room. “I’m girl enough to beg for what I really want,” I tell him. “And you’re man enough to give me what I really need.”
I don’t know if he remembers the filthy words he burned into my brain that first morning. But he knows I’d never call myself agirlfor any man but him.
Still, he’s holding back. He’s weighing whether to deny me for speaking out of turn. I have to convince him. I have to force a ghost into the room, make him see the reason why, same as I do. “Madden said he’d do it. Russo too. Madden can’t anymore. And you’ll never let Russo. You’ll protect me. You’ll keep me safe. That’s why I want you to be the one. I need you… Only you… You have to… Please…”
Sweet God, help me out here.I’ve lost my words just when I need them the most.
“You want me to be the first to fuck your sweet little arse.”
And those are words he said in the safe room too. He does remember. Those are words he promised.
“Yes, please,” I beg. “Sir. Master.”
He strips then, more brutally efficient than I was when he ordered me naked. His cock stands at full mast, for all our talk about topping and power, about who makes the rules and who gets to break them. I watch him stride to his nightstand and yank the drawer open, fishing around for something toward the back.
When he produces a bottle of lube, I see that it’s Fuck Water. That’s the brand I know, the one I chose, the one he learned about the first night he saved me from Russo.
It’s not just lube he’s found in the drawer. He’s holding a pair of handcuffs too.
He rips the comforter from the bed and throws it onto the floor.
“On your back,” he orders. “In the middle.”
He’s the one in charge now. His hands are firm as he closes my right wrist in one metal cuff. He loops the chain around one of the posts in the headboard, then secures my left hand.
“Red,” he growls again, like he hasn’t already reminded me of my power.
I don’t know why he tells me again. Iknowthe rules. He’s made them clear from the very beginning. But I nod, never taking my eyes from his. “Red,” I say. “And you’ll stop.”
My knees are already bent, easing the pressure on my lower back. Kneeling between them, he uses one shoulder to angle them wide, baring me to his feral gaze. He’s already opened the bottle of lube, already covered one of his palms. He strokes himself twice, thoroughly bathing his cock.
My belly tightens at the sight of him, even larger than I remember, and harder too. He’s back to calling mepiscín, telling me I’m beautiful, reminding me I’m strong.
Swiping between my legs, he makes me twitch when the back of his wrist finds my swollen clit. But his attention is focused on the rosebud beneath my fluttering pussy lips. Leaning forward, he slips in one drenched thumb.
I buck in surprise, gasping out something that isn’t a word. He grins wickedly and kisses the inside of my knee, pressing down with that unexpected thumb until my mouth stretches into a raw, needy O.